The Claim

OH! I admit I'm dull and poor, And plain and gloomy, as you tell me; And dozens flock around your door Who in all points but one excel me. You smile on them, on me you frown, They worship for the wage you pay; I lay life, love, and honour down For you to walk on every day. I am the only one who sees That though such gifts can never move you, A meagre price are gifts like these For life's high privilege--to love you. I am the one among your train Who sees that loving you is worth A thousand times the certain gain Of all the heaped-up joys of earth. And you, who know as well as I, What your glass tells you every morning-- A kindred soul you should descry, Dilute with sympathy your scorning. At least you should approve the intense Love that gives all for you to waste; Your other lovers have more sense, Admit that I have better taste.